


We've Made It This Far, Kid

by danschester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-24
Updated: 2017-10-27
Packaged: 2019-01-22 15:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12484468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/danschester/pseuds/danschester
Summary: Dean is sent to a rehabilitation/mental facility and meet the love of his life Castiel.TRIGGERS: Self harm, talk of suicide, mental disorders, gay smut, FLUFF AND ANGST





	1. Chapter 1

Dean jolted awake and looked around, trying to figure out where he was. It took him a moment to remember that he was in Clearfalls Rehabilitation and Mental Institution for Troubled Teens.

 

"That name is a mouthful." Dean grumbled when he first learned that the doctors told his father that Dean needed rehab.

 

"It's not a mental facility." They claimed, but Dean knew from the moment he stepped into the air-conditioned hell that they were lying. 

 

After downing around thirty pills and a bottle of whiskey, Dean was found by his baby brother Sam. A short ride in an ambulance and three nights in the hospital later, he was transported and confined to a new sterile, cinder block prison with a batch of people that were all flavors of crazy town.

 

As he was recounting the events of the last week, his "helper" Garth  stepped into the room and administered the usual morning tests.

 

"How's the ol' noodle today my man?" 

 

"Garth please. I'm fine" Dean growled.

 

"If you don't talk to me, maybe you'll talk to Mr.-" Dean cut him off.

 

"Garth, if you pull out that fucking sock-puppet, I will shove it so far up your ass, you taste lint for  year." He snarled.

 

"Okay, so we're feeling hostile today. No problem! Well, I know what'll cheer you up.Today is games and pancakes day in the lounge at three! Instead of staying locked in here like normal, Mr. Grumpy-pants, you should come down. It's lots of fun!" Dean raised his eyebrows at Garth, and Garth took the hint.

 

After taking Dean's blood pressure, he left the room. Dean stayed alone in his room, only interacting  with people when the nurses dropped off food. As three o'clock rolled around, Dean was bored and decided to go to the game night for the pancakes. And hey, he might be able to score a chick, even if she was nine types of crazy.

 

Dean made his way to Clearfall's Recreational Lounge, and when he got there, he was met by the most gorgeous person he had ever seen.

 

His eyes were like the heavens and sea rolled into one. Shining like sapphires, but soft like the blue flowers Dean's mom used to plant. They were light and playful like a summer breeze, and wise like someone who had seen to much.They were full of sorrow, and joy, and peace, and so much emotion that you couldn't help but drown in them. His presence had a calming aura as he sat looking out the window in a beige trench-coat, a board of Sorry(TM) was spread out before him.

 

Dean was about to make his way over, when Garth stepped into his path. 

 

"Hey Dean! Glad you could make it!" 

 

Dean pulled his eyes away from the mysterious blue-eyed beauty and forced himself to smile at Garth.

 

"Yep. So, where are the pancakes?"


	2. Chapter 2

"The pancakes are right over there," said Garth while pointing off to the right, "but you seem to have found something else you like." Garth winked and walked away, going to talk to a red-headed girl. 

 

After getting a plate of pancakes smothered in syrup, Dean walked over to a mostly unoccupied table, save for a mysterious trench-coated teenager. Dean could feel the other boy's eyes latch onto him as he sat down and attacked his stack of pancakes.

 

"Problem sweetheart?" Dean met the stare of the other boy before swallowing.

 

_Shit._

 

_This other guy was hella fine._

 

This dude's hair was black and tousled, like he had had a rough nights' sleep maybe. Dean's mind did not supply any analogies for this guy's hair, like crow feathers or something. His eyes were the main attraction though, like the blue cotton candy sold at the baseball games he and Sammy used to sneak into.

 

 The puzzle-boy across from Dean huffed and turned toward the window, only a Styrofoam cup of unsipped orange juice sat in front of him.

 

 The minutes ticked by, filled only with the dull tap of plastic forks on paper plates, while the quieted riff of the key-tar from a hairband-era song settled over the cafeteria with a weighted thud. 

 

Dean kept eating and the mysterious angel-of-a-human in front of him had his gorgeous eyes fixed on an unseen tree past the fence outside. 

 

A woman with long brown waves and a southern drawl like Tennessee whiskey came to the table.

 

"Everything alright?" 

 

Her sultry voice was unwavering but her eyes were locked onto Dean like a homing signal, obviously he wasn't welcomed by everyone here.

 

"I'm grand miss, thank you." Dean flashed her an award-winning smile.

 

The blue-eyed enigma awoke from his crazy-coma and whipped his head to face the nurse. He blinked the hollow look out of his eyes and spoke.

 

"I'm doing fine, Meg."

 

While Dean was still awe-struck from the gravelly, sex-dripping tone of the other boy's voice, blue-eyes turned back to the very interesting tree outside. 

 

The nurse, Meg, smiled and walked away, swinging her hips enticingly. 

 

For months, Dean would sit across from the beautiful conundrum, contemplating whether or not to try and talk to him.

 

The answer was usually no.

 

The first sweltering morning of summer, a few months after Dean had arrived to this loony-bin, he finally worked up the courage to talk to the mystery angel. 

 

It was during the "First Day of Summer Extravaganza!!!! (TM)" party, a way for the inmates, or "guests," to connect to the outside world. In other words, they were all stuck in the white-washed rec room, eating ice cream cones that tasted like cellophane and mealy watermelon.

 

"So, angel-face, what's your deal?"

 

Dean's voice admittedly did tremor, but  _only_  because the ice cream left a bad taste in his mouth. Definitely not because he had tried to make it lower to impress the cute boy...

 

The other boy's head whipper around lightning fast. His eyes crashed onto Dean's and narrowed in suspicion. 

 

"You've been here for three months. You rarely bathe and you'll shove everything and anything barely edible into your mouth. You have no family to speak of, you're blue collar and you're in here for psychosis and suicide attempts. You're homicidal, manic, self-deprecating, and you hold weekly pity-parties for yourself. You only work to win the approval of others, so much so that you've forgotten your true identity. Did I leave anything out?" He snorted at Dean's puzzled expression.

 

"Oh, and you've got ice cream dripping down your chin." He let out a sigh and faced back out the window.

 

"Well excuse me, Mr. Entitled, Sorry to have ruined your life for three months by trying to make a friend. And I do have family, I'm not in here for psychosis, and I'm not manic or homicidal thank you very much." Dean picked up the wrapper from his ice cream cone off the table and stormed away, leaving the boy sitting by himself, seemingly full circle.  

 

Dean went to his room, much to the protests of Garth, and flopped onto his bed.

 

For a month, he did nothing but sleep, stare at the ceiling, and take his pills. 

 

A day after the summer extravaganza, Garth started to bring Dean's daily meal up to his room, sometimes even slipping him an extra brownie. The trays were almost always taken away full, forcing the nurses to IV him and give Dean all the supplements they could. To be fair, it wasn't all the angel-boy's fault, but the things he said struck a chord within Dean, drudging up tainted memories like sulfuric mud at the bottom of rivers. 

 

Regardless, Dean made other friends in the cinder-block compound. Charlie was a red-headed geek who called Clearfalls the "whore-house" and would mutter to herself in Klingon during he incapacitating panic episodes that could last up to twelve hours. She would drop by at night, her and the voice in her head, specifically Hermione Granger. Charlie and Dean would talk for hours or just sleep in the comforting warmth of each other. 

 

Dean isolated himself for six weeks before he heard a knock on the door of his personal cell. Dean rolled out of bed, mumbling something about Garth visiting at the witching hour, even though neither Garth nor Charlie ever knocked hon his door. He pulled pen the door and could not believe his eyes.

 

It was the Angel-boy. 


End file.
